by Kat Shepherd
Tanya lifted her head from her book. “It’s just an urban legend.” The other girls looked at her blankly. “Every town has a story like that. The stories aren’t true; they’re just great stories that people want to be true. Look, I’ll show you.” She picked up Rebecca’s laptop and typed “urban legend pond drowned” into the browser bar. There were 272,000 results. “See?”
Clio shrugged. “Well, just because it’s an urban legend in some places doesn’t mean it wasn’t true here in Piper.”
“Yeah, but we can’t just take Butch’s word for it. We’d need to know for sure if it’s based on a factual event,” Tanya said. “If it did happen, there would have been a newspaper article about it somewhere, or an obituary or something. It would have to be sometime before that diary entry, and probably long enough before that it would be a legend and not something people in town really remembered themselves. So maybe sometime before 1940 or so, I’m guessing.”
Clio searched her memory. “And it would have to be after 1892. That’s when the house was built.”
Rebecca groaned and pulled her dark gray beanie down over her eyes. “So, that just means we need to read through about fifty years of old newspapers.”
“Well, don’t look at me,” Maggie said. “I’m terrible at that stuff. I got a C on my dance-history paper for Dance Elective. Dance Elective!” Maggie nudged Clio’s shoulder. “You love history. Maybe you could use it for your fellowship project. You know, kill two birds with one stone?”
“I never understood what that expression is supposed to mean,” Tanya said. “Who wants to go around killing birds?”
Clio picked up her backpack and stood up. “I guess I’m headed to the library. But there’s no way I’m doing this by myself. Come on, Maggie. Grab your stuff, and I’ll tell my aunt where we’re going.”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Me? I just told you I got a C on a dance paper! Do you really think I’m the best person for the job?”
Clio grinned. “Not really, but Rebecca and Tanya are busy with their own research, so you’re pretty much the only person for the job.” She held out her hand and helped Maggie up off the floor. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER
11
CLIO LOVED THE Piper Town Library. It was a stately marble building with columns in the front, built back in the early 1900s, when Piper had been a lumber boomtown. The main reading room had high, arched ceilings and tiled marble floors that made Clio feel like she was walking into a cathedral of knowledge. She took a deep breath, imagining that she was inhaling every word of the books that surrounded her.
Clio waved hello to her favorite librarian, Mrs. Idelfonso, as she led Maggie past the main desk and down the stairs to a room filled with row after row of tall shelves crowded with books. The low ceilings and dim lighting made the space seem almost cavelike, and nooks in the walls held small wooden desks with green-shaded lamps.
The girls wove through the maze of bookshelves until they reached the central desk. The nameplate on the counter said ALISON UNDERWOOD. The pale woman behind it had dark hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head with a pen tucked into the knot of hair. She had a mug of coffee and an open laptop in front of her, and she was reading a leather-bound book with a dark brown cover.
“Look!” Maggie said, pointing at the nameplate. “Underwood! Do you think she’s related to Ethan? Maybe she talks to ghosts, too!”
“Shhh!” Clio whispered.
The woman still hadn’t looked up. After a moment Clio cleared her throat, and the woman raised her eyes from the book. She took off her tortoiseshell reading glasses, and Clio noticed her eyes were a vivid blue.
“I’m sorry, I hope you weren’t standing there too long before I noticed you. I’m working on my PhD, so I try to grab every moment I can to tackle my dissertation,” she explained. “Hardly anyone comes down here, so I tend to get pretty absorbed.” She waved one hand at the work on her desk. “Anyway, how may I help you?”
“Hi, Ms. Underwood. My name’s Clio, and this is Maggie. We’re hoping to take a look at old issues of the Piper Register.”
“Of course!” Ms. Underwood replied. “All the past issues are on microfilm. What years are you looking for?”
Clio bit her lip. “Between 1892 and 1940, I think.”
Ms. Underwood blinked. “That’ll certainly keep you busy. Good thing there are two of you! Anything I can do to help you narrow it down?”
“Maybe,” Clio said. “I’m researching the Plunketts, one of the town’s founding families.”
“It’s for the Student Fellowship project at Sanger Middle,” Maggie interjected proudly. “She’s applying.”
“Oh,” Ms. Underwood said. “That’s my son’s school. Another Sanger student was here earlier, too. He should still be around somewhere.”
Maggie leaned over the desk. “We may know him. What did he look like?”
Ms. Underwood thought for a moment. “Tall. Floppy blond hair. Braces.”
Maggie suppressed an excited smile. “Sounds like it must be Trent,” she said. Clio fought the urge to groan. It was hard enough keeping Maggie focused. With Trent there, too, it would be impossible to get anything done.
“The microfilm machines are kept in the stacks downstairs,” Ms. Underwood explained. “There’s no librarian down there, so I’ll get you set up.” She led Clio and Maggie down the staircase to a heavy fire door and pulled it open to reveal a long, low-ceilinged room that stretched the entire length of the library. It was almost completely dark, punctuated by the occasional red glow of an emergency-exit light. Ms. Underwood stepped between two tall shelves of books, and the fluorescent lights flickered on above her, following her movement down the aisle. “The lights are on motion sensors,” she explained. “It helps save electricity. So if you suddenly find yourself sitting in the dark, just stand up and the lights should come on again.”
After bringing Clio and Maggie to the microfilm-viewing machines, Ms. Underwood disappeared to pull the newspaper files the girls had requested, and the echo of her footsteps slowly faded until the girls heard the heavy fire door open and slam closed again. Maggie stood up behind the table and peered across the gloom of the empty basement. “It’s kind of spooky down here, don’t you think?”
Clio nodded. “A little. I’m glad you came with me. I definitely wouldn’t want to be down here alone.”
Ms. Underwood soon reappeared with a stack of small boxes in her arms. She turned on the two machines on the table and pulled one box from the top of the stack and one box from the bottom. “I thought you girls might have an easier time of it if you start from opposite ends of the year span. Who wants to start from 1892?”
“I will,” Clio said, thinking of the photo she had seen in the dining room of the Lees’ house. Ms. Underwood pulled out the tray of Clio’s machine and slid a spool of film onto a spindle. She busied herself preparing the film until there, on the machine’s magnified screen, was an image of the Piper Register for the week of January 3, 1892.
Clio whistled appreciatively. “I still can’t get over the fact that I can read a newspaper from over 120 years ago! It’s the coolest!”
“Oh, I can definitely think of cooler things,” Maggie said.
“Well, Clio, I guess not everyone loves history quite as much as we do,” Ms. Underwood said with a wink. She threaded the 1940 spool into Maggie’s machine and showed the girls how to use the buttons to control the film.
“Is your son Ethan Underwood, by chance?” Maggie asked.
“I should have figured that you might know each other from school,” Ms. Underwood said. “Come to think of it, I’ve heard him mention a Clio now and then. Are you friends of his?”
Maggie looked over at Clio and tried to hide a smile. “So, he’s mentioned Clio, huh? What did he say?”
“We have a few classes together,” Clio said, kicking Maggie under the table. “He came into my auntie’s costume shop the other day to put up a flyer for his business.”
/> “Yeah, how’s his business going, anyway? Has he gotten any interesting new customers?” Maggie asked, raising her eyebrows at Clio.
Ms. Underwood looked between the two girls. “Ah. I see he told you about the Stalcup Gift, huh?” Seeing their nonplussed expressions, Ms. Underwood continued. “My side of the family is descended from the Stalcup line. Both the Stalcups and the Underwoods were among the founding families of Piper, but my mother’s family is most known for its work as spiritualists, or mediums. During the old days of vaudeville, my ancestors’ spiritualism shows would sell out entire theaters. Some of my relatives even held private séances for the rich and famous, including a few US presidents.”
“So their powers were real?” Maggie asked. “People can really talk to ghosts?”
“Well, I never could,” Ms. Underwood said. “But my grandmother used to tell me stories about when she was a little girl. She would be playing and look up to find spirits standing in her room like regular people. She would ask the ghosts what they wanted, but they never answered.” She smiled to herself. “I remember hearing those stories as a little girl and hoping so hard that I wouldn’t have the Stalcup Gift. My grandmother was always matter-of-fact about it, but I knew that I never, ever wanted to see a ghost.”
“But Ethan has?” Maggie asked.
“Only Ethan knows for sure.” Ms. Underwood gave a mysterious smile and walked away, leaving the girls alone.
CHAPTER
12
CLIO AND MAGGIE sat side by side, scrolling through page after page of old newspapers. It was tedious work, but Clio was starting to get the hang of it, skimming for the word Plunkett. She found stories about lumber mills, county fair prizes, births, and weddings, but nothing about any deaths or accidents at the pond. Maggie had her earbuds in, and Clio could hear the bass line as Maggie nodded her head in time with the music.
And then Clio found it.
Tragedy at Plunkett Pond, the headline screamed. Clio quickly scanned the article. She tapped Maggie on the shoulder. “Psst! Maggie!”
Maggie took out one earbud, her eyes still on the screen in front of her. “Huh?”
“Maggie! I found it!” Clio pointed at her screen. “T. D. Plunkett, the guy who built the Plunkett Mansion, had twin daughters, Harriet and Eudora, and a young son, Peter. In August 1895, while Mrs. Plunkett was putting Peter down for his nap, the twins went down to the pond to cool off. They were just going to wade in, but Eudora slipped and fell into the deeper water. Her sister ran for help, but by the time they got back to the pond, it was too late. She was only eight.”
“That’s horrible,” Maggie said. “Did they ever find her body?”
“It doesn’t say.”
The two girls sat in silence for a moment. “You know,” Maggie said, “the idea of ghosts seems so scary and exciting, but I never really thought about how every ghost means that someone died somewhere. It’s actually super sad. Poor Eudora.”
Clio nodded. Above their heads, the lights blinked out. “I’ll stand up to turn them on again,” Maggie said.
“Hold on,” Clio answered, her hand on Maggie’s arm. At the other end of the floor, the aisle farthest from the stairwell, the fluorescent lights blinked on. “There’s someone back there.”
Then the lights of the next aisle came on. Then the next.
“I bet it’s Trent,” Maggie whispered, sounding excited. “He’s probably been spying on us.”
Clio’s stomach twisted. “But what if it’s not?”
The lights above each row of shelves came flickering on, closer and closer, until the last light flickered on just before their row.
No one came out.
Clio stood up, lighting up the ceiling overhead. “Who’s there?”
There was a scuffling sound, and a few books fell off a shelf and onto the floor.
“Come on, Trent. It’s not funny,” Maggie said, standing up. “We’re trying to get work done.” She grabbed Clio’s wrist and dragged her over to the row of bookshelves. “We’re not scared, so you may as well just come out.”
Clio and Maggie poked their heads around the shelf, half expecting to see Trent hunched over and snickering behind the rows of books.
There was no one there.
The girls looked at each other. “Okay, a ghost in the old Plunkett Mansion is one thing, but there’s no way there’s one in the library, too,” Maggie said. “It’s got to be Trent trying to scare us.” Her voice lowered. “Right?”
“Maybe we should split up and search,” Clio suggested half-heartedly, hoping Maggie would say no.
Maggie folded her arms. “You know how I feel about splitting up.” Clio breathed an inward sigh of relief. “But I think you’re right,” Maggie continued. “Otherwise, whoever’s down here can just sneak past us to the exit while we’re on the other side of the room. Besides, I’m sure it’s just Trent, anyway.”
“Sure, okay, great. Let’s definitely split up, then.” Clio looked down the long rows of bookshelves. “So glad I suggested it,” she mumbled to herself. Maggie was notoriously stubborn; it figured that the one time she would decide to agree with Clio was the one time that Clio didn’t want her to.
The two girls split up to cover the exits on either side of the floor. Clio slowly and methodically checked each aisle; her footsteps sounded lonely in the empty space until she heard Maggie moving on the opposite end.
“Any luck?” Clio asked.
“Nothing yet,” Maggie called back.
Clio continued slowly down the aisles, searching for anything unusual. She thought she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned to look, everything was still.
Finally, she reached an aisle just a few rows away from the microfilm machines. There was a small scattering of books on the floor. Clio remembered the sound she had heard earlier. She looked around her, then bent to gather the books that had fallen. Just as she was about to pick them up, she paused and looked closer. “Maggie! Come here!” She heard Maggie’s footsteps hurrying toward her and watched her friend’s red curls appear and disappear as she passed through the rows of bookcases.
“What is it?” Maggie asked breathlessly.
“Look.” Clio pointed at a smudge of green that streaked one of the books on the ground. Her eyes scanned the shelves to find the empty spot where the books had been. There was a streak of green on the bookshelf, too. Clio pointed. “And over there.”
“That’s not … moss, is it?” Maggie asked quietly, and the two girls looked uneasily at each other.
“I don’t know,” Clio whispered. She thought about how loud their footsteps had been as they walked the floor. And how they hadn’t heard any footsteps at all when the lights had begun turning on by themselves.
BOOM.
The fire door slammed shut with a bang.
Clio and Maggie raced toward the exit and threw open the door. The stairwell was empty.
But stuck to the wall by the doorway was a blood red maple leaf.
CHAPTER
13
THE NEXT MORNING at school, Clio absentmindedly turned the combination on her locker; her thoughts were still swirling around the events of the day before. She and Maggie had filled in the others when they’d gotten back from the library, but everyone seemed to have a different idea about what it all meant. By the end of the day, nobody was any closer to figuring out a plan for what to do next.
After what she had read in the Register, Clio was almost certain that there was a ghost in the Lees’ house. But what about the green smudges and the leaf in the library? The last time she had seen something like that, it had led them straight to the Nightmare Realm, but her friends were certain they had sealed the portal for good. Could there be a connection between the ghost and the Nightmare Realm? There was only one person Clio could think of who might know. She had to talk to Ethan.
She found him in the hall later that morning before study hall. He was wearing a faded Star Wars T-shirt and jeans and knelt
by his backpack, putting a few heavy books in his locker. Clio wiped her suddenly sweaty hands on the sides of her yellow wool color-block dress and fluffed her Afro puffs. Why was she so nervous?
Ethan was just zipping up his pack when Clio tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Ethan, um, can I talk to you about something?”
Ethan looked up, and his expression brightened when he saw Clio. “Oh, hey! Yeah, sure. I mean, definitely.”
Clio bit her lip. “It’s kind of … weird.”
“That’s cool; I like weird.” He blushed and looked down at his shoes, a pair of gray Chuck Taylors that he had drawn all over with black pen. “I have free period in the art studio. You wanna talk there?”
“Okay.” Clio followed Ethan into the art studio. Every inch of wall space was filled with pen-and-ink drawings and watercolor paintings, turning the room into a patchwork quilt of dizzying colors and patterns. Shelves were crammed with ceramic projects in various states of completion, and paper mobiles cascaded from the ceiling. Easels with blank canvases were set up in one corner, and a few older students worked at a long table in the back of the room. They looked up and waved when they saw Ethan walk in.
Ethan slid a black portfolio from a set of low, flat shelves and pulled out a sheet of heavy paper. He laid it on a nearby table and grabbed a dusty gray jar of drawing pencils. Clio glanced down at the page. “Whoa, is that a raven?” The sketch was still rough, but Clio could already tell that it was good.
“I started it yesterday.” Ethan sat down. “Is it okay if I work while we talk?”
“Of course,” Clio said.
Ethan slid a sheet of blank paper across the table. “Here. You can draw something, too.” He moved the jar of pencils closer.
Clio picked up a pencil and looked down at the blank page. “So you really do believe in ghosts, right?”
Ethan blinked. “Well, duh. That’s like asking me if I believe in dogs. Or the sun.”
